


Progress

by MoonkistPrincess (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/MoonkistPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has to stop thinking. It’s driving him insane. It’s going to kill him. He shuts his eyes and stops thinking- or he tries. He tries so hard, to make his brain black, but all that does is give him clips of memory and brushes with fear and dread and loathing and jealousy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Progress

**Author's Note:**

> Giftfic for tumblr user notdavesprite. Short and kinda lame, mostly because I suck at writing Derse kids and I've never written Davesprite before, or even entertained the notion of doing so.

At first it’s cool.

 

Knowing tons of stuff and being a step ahead of the game is nice, and flying is definitely awesome. The one-color thing is all right, he supposes, although orange has never been his first color choice, and this particular shade reminds him a little too much of—-

 

He doesn’t worry about much, simply because he already knows what’s going down. He can’t exactly tell the future, but he’s got this really good chill-mode, permanently fixed into his head, that keeps him from panicking or freaking out, and that really comes in handy. That is, until he watches her change and fly away, until he watches—-

 

And being alone is cool, too, he guesses. He doesn’t know what’s going on exactly anymore, and honestly, that’s a little maddening- he doesn’t feel in control for once in his weird, orangey, feathery life, but that out-of-control feeling is nothing new to the not-orange Dave, who—-

 

He has to stop thinking. It’s driving him insane. It’s going to kill him. He shuts his eyes and stops thinking- or he tries. He tries so hard, to make his brain black, but all that does is give him clips of memory and brushes with fear and dread and loathing and jealousy.

 

He feels the burn bubble, and coil, and hiss like an icy-hot snake waiting to bite, waiting to clamp down with strong jaws and a stronger venom. He feels it surge upward, at an alarming rate, and sear through the pits of his very core, his heart, his soul, but christ does he even _have_ one anymore, or was it even there to begin with, who was he, _what am I if I’m not Dave, not the real Dave, no matter how many times I save his life or how many times I chill Jade out or how many things I know, I don’t know what I am. Some feathery fucking freak, some dumbass who left his kid in the game too early and who fucking needs them, who needs anyone, I’m not Dave and I’m not anyone, I’m a half fucking bird ghost THING, and_ —-

 

Now it’s cold.

 

He’s bursting inside, he’s scared, confused, lost, alone, desperate, and it’s all unforgivable. These are things, he is sure, that he should never be thinking or feeling or admitting to anyone, even himself. He is angry, and hurt, and he doesn’t know where anyone is or what his function is anymore. He’s served his purpose, so now what? Now where?

 

“Oh fuck, it’s Davesprite!!! I forgot about him.”

 

Here.

 

He belongs right here.


End file.
